An Ode to the Love Boat
By Miranda Osterlund
Which one you wonder perhaps?
It definitely doesn’t have to do with an ice cube in your partners lap.
Sailing down a river of bodily fluids you may presume.
From the thousands of dead bodies you exhumed.
Maybe it’s a joint rolled in formaldehyde you prefer.
Death would be what one would infer.
Alas, a singles cruise is what you actually desire,
I’ll be the captain, I am for hire.
Scribble City: Write Now 